


Just like kisses on the necks of best friends

by Ani_V



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke wants to learn, F/M, Hickeys, I have a thing for, Season 1, Whos better than Bellamy Blake as a teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani_V/pseuds/Ani_V
Summary: “You want me to teach you…. how to give a hickey?” he chuckles, shaking his head “Have you lost your mind?”“Maybe” Clarke is honest. It’s so easy to be honest with him. “Would you teach me or not?” she insists, because fuck it. Fuck her and fuck him, she’s not letting this go.Clarke has lost so much along the way: her father, her best friend, her freedom, her virginity, and her heart.She’s not letting this fucking go.





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn't make sense, not really, but Clarke feels something that morning when she sees Bellamy getting out of his tent, not naked but just partially dressed, without his t-shirt on, and that girl —Roma, she believes it’s the girl’s name— following him, kissing him quickly. It’s not Bellamy, and it’s not about Bellamy with a girl. It’s not even about him being half naked. The moment he turns his head to start barking orders and the camp comes back to life, Bellamy twists his head a little bit, and she sees it. A hickey on the side of his neck, so dark it's almost purple, like a proud mark of ownership Roma has left there.

And it’s stupid —God knows it's stupid— but Clarke feels something in her guts. A jealous feeling, like a stab that would bleed her to death. It’s not about Bellamy, not jealousy  _for_ him. It's about the way he stands, proud and arrogant; it's about the confidence he has; it's about the way he moves and the fact that people listen to him.

It's about Clarke having her heart on her hands, like a broken puzzle with a missing part that just won't work anymore. It's about Finn and Raven, and the way he never marked her, not like that girl has marked Bellamy. Not like he wanted everyone to know.

Clarke has never learned to give a hickey, because she hasn't had the chance, she thinks while she stares at Bellamy.  _Stares_ , because that's what she’s doing.

Back on the Ark, the other kids never wanted to be friends with her, even if she was nice. It didn't matter. She was too normal for the privilege kids, too rich for the poor ones. She just didn't feel like she belonged anywhere. As a teenager, it got even worse. She had Wells as a best friend though, and it didn't matter that much back then. She didn't feel lonely.

Now, she does.

Now Wells is dead, and Finn —the one she has trusted, the one who seemed so different— is not there anymore, not for her anyway, and she just feels angry and broken and suddenly, all she wants to do is to learn how to give a fucking hickey, because why the hell not. They were on the ground, for the first time in forever, and what was Bellamy always bragging about? Whatever the hell they wanted, wasn’t it?

 

*

 

They’re on good terms, for once.

After the conversation they had against that tree, after she saw Bellamy crying his guts out to her, and a sort of link grew stronger between them, they’ve been good. Really good, actually.

It’s Unity Day, the camp is celebrating, Monty’s moonshine is flowing and everyone is a little tipsy already. Clarke included. She’s been drinking —“You look like you could use one drink” he’s said— and even though she’s managed not to think about it all week, she’s thinking about it  _now_. Now that the moon is shining, and the fire is crackling and everything feels warmer against her skin, her blood running hot. Now, right  _fucking_ now, she’s thinking about hickeys.

About that dark mark that still colors Bellamy’s neck, more yellow that purple now.

She casts a quick look to her right, where Finn and Raven are talking, not really drinking or partying, like they were out of it all, inside a bubble that nobody could reach.

Clarke feels a punch in her insides but she ignores it the best way she can: drinking again, a big gulp of that disgusting thing that’s getting her head floating. She’s over it now, she repeats herself.

_So over it._

It’s not that it matters, right?

So what? She shared Finn’s bed for a night. No biggie. It’s not like Bellamy has not been sleeping with half the camp since they arrived. And nobody has cared. So what if she has screwed Finn? What about it? What made it so fucking important, Clarke? she yells at herself.

Maybe that he was your first, her conscious screams back, because she’s a bitch and Clarke hates her.

Yeah.

 _Good_ , now she’s answering the voice in her head. She's lost it.

She laughs a little, because, yeah, maybe she’s just drunk and suddenly she’s restless. She can’t stand the sight of Raven and Finn anymore, can’t stand the sight of teenagers hooking up and definitely, she can’t stand the sight of everyone looking at her like she didn’t belong among them. Like she’s the mother who is going to stop the party.

Fuck you all, she thinks.

Fuck Finn — “you already did that, honey”, her conscious talks again. Clarke just gives it the finger—, fuck all these kids and fuck her.

She wants to learn how to give a hickey, she reminds herself. She fucking wants to learn, and she’s going to.

Clarke stands on her feet, trying to regain her balance, and when she does, she walks away from the rest of the kids, looking for Bellamy. He’s nowhere to be seen, but he’s told her he would be on guard so he must be near.

She struggles a little bit with her feet and the ground, while she’s looking for him around camp. Suddenly she’s aware that the fire is no longer lighting her surroundings, and she’s been walking for a while. The sound of the party is a distant echo, and now it’s just her and the moonlight.

Clarke looks up, because she adores the way the moon looks from the ground, but it’s not a good idea because now she feels dizzy. She closes her eyes, trying not to puke, when she hears it. The sound of feet approaching.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bellamy’s voice is low and husky, like he hasn't talked in a while.

Clarke opens her eyes, looking at him through her eyelashes: his hair is messy and tangled like he’s been running his hands through it, he’s frowning but looking at her with a smirk on his eyes, like he’s trying to figure her out. He’s been like this since that other day, she notices. Since they spent the day apart, separated from the others.

It’s like now he trusts her, not just because he needs her, but because he wants to. Because he likes her, somehow.

“Admiring the view” she answers, and she’s talking about the moon but she’s not because he has nice shoulders. Why hadn't she noticed that before? They’re broad and solid and the blue shirt he’s wearing beneath the jacket is fucking glued to his torso and…

She’s been staring for a while now and he’s looking at her with a funny look on his eyes.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, standing by her side. His warmth reaches her, and he smells like wood and apples. Earthy and trustworthy. Safe, she thinks.

“A little bit” she doesn’t bother with lies. Not with him.

“Hmmm” it's all he answers back.

For a while, they just stand there in silence, sharing a peaceful moment, because fuck her if she remembers the last time they had one of those. But then she shivers because it's humid and cold, and she braces herself. Clarke notices Bellamy’s eyes on her, a quick glance to her cleavage, so fucking fast she believes she imagined it.

And it’s that, the thought that maybe he wants her, in a sexual way. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol flowing through her veins. Maybe it’s just that she doesn't want to feel used or broken, she just wants to enjoy her life and she doesn't remember the last time she did that.

Maybe it’s just that damn hickey that’s looking at her from the side of his neck.

“Are you cold?” Bellamy asks but she asks at the same time:

“Would you teach me?”

He looks at her like she’s crazy.

“...teach you?”

“Yeah” she licks her lips, suddenly dry. And yeah, it’s definitely because of the alcohol.

She turns around until she’s looking at him and Bellamy is just frowning now, trying to figure her out. If he only imagined, she thinks.

Her tongue is not working properly, so she extends her arm and she touches the mark on his neck with her fingertips. Her fingers are cold, and his flesh is warm. He hisses.

“Would you teach me?” Clarke asks again, grazing the skin with her nails, and he’s looking at her with his eyes open wide now.

“You want me to teach you…. how to give a hickey?” he chuckles, shaking his head “Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe” Clarke is honest. It’s so easy to be honest with him. “Would you teach me or not?” she insists, because fuck it. Fuck her and fuck him, she’s not letting this go.

Clarke has lost so much along the way: her father, her best friend, her freedom, her virginity, and her heart.

She’s not letting this  _fucking_ go.

“Why?” he asks, and she stops touching him and crosses her arms, looking at everywhere except his face. She knows she’s blushing but she hopes the dark will cover it.

“Why not?” she murmurs.

“You need to give me a better reason, princess”

“Just…. forget it. It was stupid to ask”

She feels a pang of rage in her belly, warm and bitter, like some kind of poison that would kill her. She tries to leave, but Bellamy grabs her by the wrist, stopping her.

“I didn’t say no”

“You didn’t say yes” she dares him with her words and her eyes, looking intently at him, but he doesn't hesitate, doesn't look away. He’s strong and brutal, and she craves it. Not him, but who he is.

He looks at her for a couple of seconds, like he’s wondering if she had suffered brain damage within the last three hours or so since he talked to her. He bites his lower lip, and suddenly he lets out a sigh, like he had decided something.

“Okay” he agrees, letting her wrist go.

She smiles, because she has won, and she did not remember how sweet victory tasted on her lips. She’s so happy right now she wants to hug him, but she just smiles because it’s safer.

But then Bellamy starts to walk away and all her happiness crumbles to the ground. Where is he going?

“Where are you going?”

He turns his head and arches an eyebrow.

“You want to do it  _now_ _?_ ” and he doesn’t say anything else, but she knows he’s talking about their surroundings: the party, the teenagers, her being mostly drunk.

Clarke doesn’t care.

“Yes” she is begging at this point.

Bellamy tilts his head, looking to the path that leads to the party, then back to the camp gates, like he can’t afford to forget his duty. He’s on watch, she knows that. And he fucking takes his job seriously, but she feels like she’s dying on the inside. She feels like that dagger she pulled out of Finn’s ribs is stabbing her now, and she can’t breathe, numbed by her reality.

She feels like a waste of time and air and space.

She needs something.

“Please”

“Just tell me why” he repeats, without looking back at her. She’s staring at his back and maybe that’s why she talks.

“I don’t know how to do it”

“Obviously” his sarcasm is hot against her skin. “But why me?”

You got a nice mouth, she wants to say, but she refrains herself.

“You are the only one I trust” she confesses, and it feels like a little too much, so she adds “To not get attached to me. Or mistake this for something else. The others...they’re just kids”

“So are you” he says. If he’s offended about what she’s said, he doesn’t show it.

She rolls her eyes.

“Is this about morality, Blake? Seriously? Because I’m the one who’s asking”

He’s going to say something but she doesn't let him talk. Apparently, she has a lot to say tonight.

“Besides, I’m not asking to sleep with you. It's just a hickey”

He laughs a little now.

“No one has given one to you, either” he doesn't ask.

She wants to lie to him, but she opens and closes her mouth and he just looks at her over his shoulder, waiting for it.

“How do you know it?” she talks so low she’s surprised he hears her.

“I just do” but he’s smiling like he’s got a secret and Clarke doesn’t like those. Everyone around her seems to keep secrets from her.

She closes her eyes again, trying to even her breathing and forget about her mother, and Wells, and Finn. Trying to calm herself because this is insane. Really. She’s asking Bellamy fucking Blake a favor just to forget there are ants running under her skin, eating her alive, because she’s a corpse and nobody has noticed yet.

“Here” his touch on her skin startles her for a second, and he’s in front of her now, looking at her with a worry that’s so honest she feels like crying. He looks at her and sees through her and she needs him. He has grabbed her wrist again, and he’s doing circles with his thumb there. “I can show you how to do it”

She just nods, because his gaze is dark and heavy, and he has so many freckles that she wonders if she could count them all having the time.

She doesn't know what she expects but she does not expect Bellamy to bring her wrist to his mouth. She knew his mouth was going to be involved in the process but she didn’t  _know._

She didn't know how warm his lips would be against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist and she definitely did not know how wet his tongue would feel.

Clarke feels something in her stomach but she tells herself is just the moonshine. She believes it for a while.

“First thing you’ve got to know, princess, it’s that not everyone will mark just as easy” he talks with her wrist against his lips, the words spoken against her skin and she’s unable to look away from his mouth. He’s looking at her, and he  _knows_ , but she doesn’t care.

She nods, breathing heavy now.

Then she feels his teeth on her skin, grazing.

“You need to bite, but not too hard” he explains, like she’s hearing _anything_ he’s saying “and then you suck, but you’ve got to help yourself with your tongue too”

“Show me” she manages to say, but she doesn't even know how.

All she knows it's Bellamy is grabbing her wrist with both hands now and his mouth is open, hot and wet against her. All she knows it’s that she’s been naive and stupid, because now she wants to feel it everywhere.

And he does show her. He sucks the inside of her wrist and she feels the pulses of his tongue. They’re fluid motions, like he’s drinking from her. His tongue caresses her too and his teeth glue her to his mouth.

It’s like a fucking epiphany.

Suddenly she opens her mouth to breathe because she’s running out of air, and the pulse motion he’s doing with his mouth is everywhere. On her neck, against her lips. She feels it in her nipples and between her legs too.

She bites her lips, trying to silent herself, and then she looks at Bellamy and sees him with his eyes closed, his mouth working. His cheeks are a little bit red now, and she can’t help but think about him kissing, his jaw moving too, the sounds he would make.

She gasps, and she feels his approval grunt against her wrist.

Her knees get weak, but thank god Bellamy stops, and just looks at the mark he’s made, like an artist admiring his job.

“Your skin is nice” he sounds husky, and she can’t look at her own skin when he’s all she can think about. His eyes are black, and he’s licking his wet lips.

“yeah?”

“yeah. Its pale, so it marks nice. Mine is harder”

And then she looks at the purple bruise that is starting to form on her own skin. It's round, and his teeth are still drawn on the edges. He touches it with his thumb, and the skin aches a little.

She gets wet because of it.

“You wanna try?” he asks, baring his own wrist and offering it to her.

Clarke just nods and grabs his arm. She feels his rapid pulse against her lips when she strokes his skin and wonders if he has felt hers as well.

“Remember, teeth, tongue, and suck. Just that easy” he mocks her, but he shuts his mouth the seconds she opens hers, doing exactly what he’s said.

His skin is salty and soft, and she feels the urge to close her eyes, but she doesn’t because he’s looking at her while she sucks and hollows her cheeks, and when he hisses she feels powerful and she loves it.

“Harder” he orders, still touching the hickey he has given her just seconds ago. It hurts a little, but she doesn’t care at all. “You’re being too soft on me, princess”

She laughs a little, and then she has to start again, but this time she does it harder and he groans.

“Good” he sounds pleased.

And now she feels it. Why he had guessed no one had given her a hickey before when she’d said she was not asking for anything else.

Now, she  _knows._

He’s looking at her like he’s on fire and she was water and she’s not so drunk anymore. She has his skin in her mouth, and his taste on her tongue and it's not even remotely enough.

But when Bellamy removes his own wrist from her mouth and whistles softly, admiring her job, she doesn't dare to ask for more.

“You learn fast”

“It wasn’t that hard” she lies, because the hickey part has been easy, but not kissing him is  _hurting_ her.

She licks her lips, trying to cool herself.

He smiles, looking at the hickey on his own wrist.

“But it's not going to last” he sounds sad about it.

She’s going to offer doing it again, but suddenly someone yells at the other side of camp, and Bellamy tenses up, on alert.

She sighs because the moment is over and now she won’t be able to forget his taste in her mouth or the sounds he makes.

For the millionth time that night, she curses herself.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want that” she says, with a new focus on her mind, pointing the bed, and the girl that was there minutes ago.
> 
> She’s so tired of feeling sorry for herself. She just wants the fire back, and Bellamy looks like more than capable of setting her on fire.
> 
> “You want my bed?” he’s playing dumb, and that is what gives her the strength.
> 
> “I want you to make me a hickey” she declares; she fists her hands at her sides so they don’t tremble.
> 
> “I already did that, remember?” he’s looking at her like she’s insane. Maybe she is. She feels like it too.
> 
> “Not like her” she answers “Not like that”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changed.

It’s been a few days since the tongue and mouth incident, as Clarke has started to call it in her head. Actually, it’s been the hell of a week: that meeting with Anya went to shit, Finn is no longer talking to her, Raven is looking at her like she killed a puppy or something, and the only one who’s offering some kind of support is Bellamy.

It’s crazy, she thinks, that Bellamy is the only one who supports her now.

When the fuck did _that_ happened?

And that’s not even the weirdest of it all.

Since _it_ happened, she’s been observing him — _Staring_ , for fuck’s sake, Clarke. Tell the truth. She’s been unable to focus on her tasks around camp —because there was always injured. God help her, those kids didn’t know how to take care of themselves. She’d say she’s been lost in her head, but the truth was she’s been lost in his mouth.

They talked a lot. That’s what happens when you two run a freaking camp together, she mocks herself. You need to get everything in order and everyone into doing their jobs.

So, Clarke’s found herself lost into the shape of his mouth, the way his lips move when he talks. Sometimes —a lot of times, she’s noticed— he bites his lower lip, and she feels it on her wrist, on the inner part of it, where the skin is still dark. She feels it like a pulse, like all her blood gathers there and reminds her about that time, for one little moment, that his mouth was on her. And how good it felt.

“Are you listening to me?” Bellamy asks, clearly annoyed.

No, she’s not. She’s thinking about his hot mouth and wet tongue, about the way his teeth grazed her skin. She’s thinking about the way he groaned, like he was enjoying it. How would he sound if…?

 “Clarke?”

She clears her throat, looking at him straight into his eyes, trying to calm herself. Her wrist itches, but she knows it’s not real. It’s just the necessity to touch the purple mark he’s left there.

“Yeah, yeah. I am listening” her voice is a little bit hoarse “I am listening, but we need to get more food. Winter is going to fall on us like a damn storm, Bellamy. We need supplies”

They’ve been discussing it for a while now: they need to gather more food, and with the grounders pissed because of that meeting, they don’t dare to venture too far into the Mountain. But the truth is the Exodus ship fell into the ground the other night, and no one survived, so they can’t wait to be rescued. They _won’t_ be rescued. She doesn’t know if her mom is still alive, if anyone is still alive out there. She just knows that _they_ are very much alive, and they need to get through winter by themselves.

“What do you suggest? Because I’m not losing people on this” Bellamy is serious about it. He’s frowning, one hand on his hip, biting his lower lip like he always does when he’s thinking.

They’re on Bellamy’s tent, because the dropship was full of people, and she’d discovered that the best way to no be requested by the hundred was to be around Bellamy. When she was with him, the others didn’t bother her, because it had to be important. Bellamy had that kind of aura, Clarke believes, that lets everyone know not to mess with him. She’s discovered herself trying to imitate that in these last few days; copying the way he speaks to the people —the bastard has a way with speeches— and the way he stands.

But the truth is Clarke simply likes to be around Bellamy.

He would never admit it, she knows that, but he cares for her —and for _every-fucking-body_ there. He’s observant and protective. He knows when she’s tired, and bosses her around, ordering her to get some rest. He casually brings her food, because sometimes there were so many things to do she’d lost track of time.

He was not selfish, she has found out. He was just scared… of losing people.

“I don’t know yet. Let me think about it, okay? We’ll figure it out.” She answers, and Bellamy sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“We better figure it out soon” it’s all he says.

He’s only wearing that dark blue t-shirt, so Clarke is able to see his wrist. The one she’d had against her mouth. On her tongue —It’s stupid. She’d slept with Finn, but doing that with Bellamy seemed a hell lot more intimate for some reason.

Her pulse runs fast while she’s staring. His hickey is almost gone, more yellow than anything, like an old wound that has almost disappeared. She’s disappointed, because she did it hard. She remembers the way he groaned while she sucked.

 She’s staring and he knows.

 _Busted_ , she thinks when he follows her gaze and smirks. The bastard.

 “It’s almost gone” she explains herself, feeling like a stalker.

 “Yeah, next time you need to do a better job, princess” he points at her wrist with his chin and asks:

 “How’s yours?”

 She feels shy, all of a sudden. Like he’d asked what color her undies were.

 “Still there” she bares her wrist, showing him. He doesn’t touch her, but his stare feels like fire on her skin. Like a tongue of sin, melting her to the ground.

 “I’m awesome” he declares.

 “You’re so full of yourself” she rolls her eyes, trying to not think about his words. He’d said next time like it was going to happen again. Like he expects it to happen again.

He just smiles like a cat, and now she doesn’t feel comfortable around him. She doesn’t like when he looks at her like that, like he knows, because she’s so good at hiding everything sometimes even she doesn’t know she’s lying. But he does.

They had clearly finished with the meeting, so she just passes him, trying to get out of his presence. His eyes are hot against the back of her neck, she can feel them.

“You want to try it again, you just let me know” but he’s mostly taunting her at this point, because she was drunk and desperated the other night, and he _knew._

He knew, and something grows in her stomach. Something heavy and warm, because she doesn’t like to be exposed like that, but the fact that he sees her is a relief. An ease that lets her sleep at night, knowing that she’s not alone.

 Maybe she’ll take the offer, she decides.

 

 

*

 

She does takes the offer.

It’s late and she should be sleeping but she can’t. The camp is calm for once, and even though the air is starting to get colder, she’s comfortable in her own tent. She’s been thinking about the supply issue, and she’ll speak with Bellamy in the morning, she decides. It’s not such a big idea, but they should build a place to store the food and they can use Monty’s knowledge to try and grow vegetables while they can. Winter is not going to let them grow anything so it was now or never.

She’s been thinking about that for a while but that was not it.  Now she’s thinking about Finn not talking to her, and Raven being pissed at her for some fucking reason. Like she’s the one responsible for everything that had happened. Like everything is her fucking fault. She knows they’ve been fighting, because it was a small camp and teenagers gossip like boring housewives, but it’s not her fault. She wants to scream it to Raven. She wants to _believe_ it. She wants to forget about the guilt that’s corroding her, inside out.

She closes her eyes, trying to shut her mind when suddenly she’s aware she’s been touching her wrist, pressing her thumb over the purple bruise Bellamy has left there.

Clarke presses it hard and it hurts a little and she wants to feel something, so she makes a decision. Maybe it’s not the best one, or the wiser one, but she doesn’t care. She puts on her boots, biting her lip, trying to convince herself that she’s just going to talk to him about business, nothing else, but she’s lying to herself and not even her bitch of a conscious is buying it.

You’re so full of shit, she says to herself.

Like she even cares at this point.

She walks around camp, the crackling of the dying fire and her own footsteps are the only sounds she can hear. That and the beating of her heart in her ears.

Clarke doesn’t even think that it’s late and maybe Bellamy is sleeping. She doesn’t stop to think that maybe he’s on watch tonight and he wouldn’t even be on his tent. Clarke just enters, like she owns the place and the scene punches her in the face.

She did not expect _that._

Bellamy is sitting at the edge of his makeshift bed, half naked, torso exposed and that’s not even the most disturbing thing of it all. There’s a girl on his lap, bracing him with arms and legs like she doesn’t want to ever let him go. She can’t blame her; she knows what that feels like. She licks her suddenly dry lips, and she needs to leave, like yesterday. But she can’t.

She finds herself watching like a pervert, because none of them had discovered her yet and Bellamy is sucking on the girl’s neck like his life depends on it. The girl —she’s blonde and skinny but Clarke doesn’t know who she is— lets her head fall back, and her neck is even more exposed to him now. He groans, happy about it, and lifts one hand to grab her by the hair, a tight fist that holds the girl against his mouth. She moans and Clarke covers her mouth because she was going to moan too.

Clarke is breathing fast against her hand while Bellamy is attached to the girl’s skin, and she’s rocking herself against him, looking for some kind of release only he can give her. He steadies her with one hand on her hip, like he doesn’t want to be disturbed while he’s working her neck.

Bellamy’s skin is shining like he’s sweating and Clarke can see his hair wet against his temple. His eyes are closed and his cheeks flustered, the freckles darkened by it. She wants to kiss them all.

She’s going to leave because she wants to be the girl on his lap, running her hands through his hair, rocking against him, and she can’t stand it. She just wants Bellamy as a distraction, because… well, because he’s the only one who hasn’t lie to her, and she can be herself around him. He accepts her, the more brutal visceral version of herself. Her most obscure secrets.

But now she just feels lonely because even him has someone —even if it’s just for the night— and she’s still moping about Finn.

She’s going to turn around and leave, when Bellamy opens his eyes and catches her out. She’s fucked, and her cheeks turn so red she feels them like they’re on fire. But Bellamy just stares at her while the suction of his mouth is making the girl gasp, and it feels like a promise.

She wants to be marked like that. Not on her fucking wrist, where nobody can see it; where she can pretend it never happened. She wants to feel it and see it every day. She wants everybody to know what she’d done, not be able to hide it. She wants to be proud of who she is, just like Bellamy. She wants something she just doesn’t know what it is.

He smiles at her against that girl’s skin, his eyes so dark she doesn’t even know where they finish. He smiles at her and it’s too much, she needs to leave.

Clarke turns around, and she wants to keep walking but she feels like hyperventilating for no reason, so she just steps aside and tries to calm herself. It was just Bellamy and a girl, she rationalizes. Yeah, it was just Bellamy and a girl. It was just about a hickey and a distraction. And hell was just a sauna.

She feels like a fraud and she hates it.

Clarke wants to hate him but she can’t. She can’t even hate Finn, much less Bellamy who was just trying to help. It’s not his fault that she’s losing her fucking mind.

She breaths through her mouth, and she’s still doing just that, breathing, at the side of Bellamy’s tent when she hears muffled voices and then the blonde leaves the tent, talking to herself, raging about men and their dicks.

She laughs because that’s the only thing that makes sense at this point.

“What’s so funny?”

His voice startles her, and she turns her head to watch him get out of his tent. He’s still not wearing a shirt and she doesn’t dare to look further, because if he’s hard against his pants she’s going to burn herself to the ground.

“You didn’t have to make her leave” she answers instead, because nothing is funny about this “It wasn’t important”

He walks toward her, a tower of muscle and warm flesh. His skin is begging her to touch it, and his lips are swollen, kissed.

“It seemed urgent” he arches his eyebrows, trying to figure her out. She knows she’s flushing, but she’s not going to feel embarrassed about it.

“It wasn’t” and now his inquiring eyes are pissing her off.

It wasn’t urgent, just that her life is going to shit. Just that her hands are always cold lately and her heart feels like a pumping metallic organ that does not belong to her. It wasn’t urgent, she is not going to die because of it.

But it feels that way.

“Whatever” she murmurs, knowing that she’s not making any sense. If someone had the right to be pissed that was Bellamy. He was in the middle of something when she had interrupted him and stayed to watch like some kind of voyeur.

He grabs her by her wrist when she’s leaving, forcing her to turn around and look at him. At his red cheeks and his perfects lips; at the broad shoulders and the tan skin. She closes her eyes.

“What the fuck, Clarke? What did just happen here?”

Like I know, she wants to say.

She doesn’t answer though, and suddenly Bellamy seems concerned.

“Are you okay?” his voice is full of worry, and he’s asking so fondly she feels like crying. She hasn’t cry yet, not for real. Not for Wells, and barely for Finn. She did cry a little when she saved him, but that was just about him staying alive, not about…. Everything else.

She doesn’t notice but there are tears running down her cheeks.

“Shit, Clarke. Did something happen?” Bellamy tries to get close to her but she refuses. If he touches her she’d be lost and she’s tired of being lost.

“No, nothing happened” she manages to asnwer, screaming at herself for crying in front of him like a child, because really, nothing has happened. Just her and her stupid life.

 “Is this about Finn?” he finally asks.

 “This is not….” She starts, but then she cleans her cheeks and looks at him deadly in the eye, recomposing herself “It’s not about him” she affirms, sure of herself. Or at least she tries to be.

He’s just staring at her, frowning. His fingers are constantly flexing like he wants to touch her but he doesn’t dare.

“Do you want to get inside? It’s getting colder”

It’s feels like a trap but he doesn’t give her much of a choice because he enters his own tent and leaves her right there, on her own. She knows she could leave now and he won’t ever say a word about this to her, but she’s tired of keeping secrets. She’s tired of being forced to forget parts about her life like they haven’t ever existed.

She’s mad at herself so she gets inside his tent. He’s still not wearing more clothes, damn him and his sculptural chest.

“I want that” she says, with a new focus on her mind, pointing the bed, and the girl that was there minutes ago.

She’s so tired of feeling sorry for herself. She just wants the fire back, and Bellamy looks like more than capable of setting her on fire.

“You want my bed?” he’s playing dumb, and that is what gives her the strength.

“I want you to make me a hickey” she declares; she fists her hands at her sides so they don’t tremble.

“I already did that, remember?” he’s looking at her like she’s insane. Maybe she is. She feels like it too.

“Not like her” she answers “Not like that” that last part she says it biting her lower lip.

Bellamy looks at her, eyes wide open, arching an eyebrow.

“You want a causal fuck, princess? It’s that what you’re asking?”

“No” she snaps. “I want a hickey, I already told you” But he’s saying no with his head, and she feels rejected “but you’re not going to do it to me” she says, thinking out loud.

“You’re better than that. Come on, Clarke. Screwing around with me? Fucking some douchebag just because you want to feel something? That’s… That’s not what you are. You’re better than that”

No, I’m not, she wants to say. I’m just like you. I just did that, and it felt good for one night and a half and then…. It wasn’t real.

“You’re better than me” he adds, not looking at her anymore, like he’s embarrassed. Like he really believes she’s the princess he always says she is. But she’s nothing more than a bunch of bones and melting hopes. She’s nothing but the fire she suddenly has in her veins, because of him.

She’s feeling alive _because of him._

Clarke walks toward him and Bellamy seems scared. It’s a beautiful sight, she thinks, watching him hesitate. It makes her feel powerful and in control, like she belongs there, and he can let his guard down around her too.

“You want me to beg?” Clarke’s smirking now, because he’s checking her out and she knows what that means.

“This is not a good idea”

“I don’t care”

“Since when am I the one making the good decisions?” Bellamy licks his lips, looking at her, and she wants to kiss him but she’s not going to.

“Please”

“Fuck” he groans, like he can’t stand her begging. He bends a little and she exposes her neck. She’s nervous because _fuck_ it’s going to happen for real, but he stops “You tell me if it hurts” he warns her.

“Okay” like she _cares._

He bends a little more, until his lips are against her skin on the sensitive part of her neck. She sighs, because he holds her in place with both hands, his thumbs tracing circles behind her ears.

“You sure about this? Everyone is going to notice it tomorrow” he murmurs against her skin.

“What are they going to notice? Because you’re not doing anything”

“Fuck you” he’s angry at her and then Bellamy shuts her up when his mouth opens on her pulse. His teeth bite hard, harder this time than the other night. Clarke has to steady herself on his shoulders —warm, hard, firm shoulders, because he hasn’t found his t-shirt before.

She whimpers, loud enough to wake the dead when his tongue starts caressing her and the pulses of his suctions make her feel empty between her legs.

“Bellamy…” she wants to say something, because she knew it would feel good, but she had no idea. He’s breathing against her neck, sucking on it, making her feel the suction of his mouth in her nipples. On the inside of her thighs. 

Clarke can’t breathe, and then he does it harder, like he’s mad at her for this. She moans, and he’s shutting her up with his hand so nobody can hear them.

Bellamy was right. It does hurt, more than her wrist. But she doesn’t care.

The pain gets her wetter between her legs and all she wants to do is find some kind of friction, but he knows. Of course he does.

Suddenly there’s a thigh between her legs, and his hard warm chest is against her, but his mouth never leaves her neck. He hums into her skin when she rocks against him, and then groans when she does it again.

God help her, but it does feel good. Clarke has never felt it like this, not like it was coming or die, and she’s feeling dizzy and full of electricity at the same time. She scratches his shoulders, and he lets go of her neck.

 “Breathe” he orders, letting her mouth free of his hand “But be quiet”

 She believes she nods, but she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Well, that’s a lie. She’s totally fucking herself against Bellamy’s thigh and he’s letting her. No, not letting her. He has grabbed her hips, and is helping her with the movement.

It’s insane.

It’s feels like heaven.

He’s looking at her like he wants to eat her alive and yell at her, but she’s glad he’s acting on just about the first part.

Bellamy’s mouth is near her ear now, and his voice is a hoarse whisper.

“Your neck is going to be so dark tomorrow” he says, like he’s enjoying the idea. She wants to answer that so is going to be that other girl’s neck, but Bellamy seems to be mad enough as it is so she just lets her head drop into his shoulder and bites it when she feels like moaning.

“Shit, that’s hot” he groans, his fingers grabbing her hips so hard they’re going to be purple too in the morning. She gaps, because she likes that.

 She’s feeling her orgasm on the base of her spine, and she’s going to fall because she has never came standing on her feet before.

“I’m going to fall” she manages, holding on his shoulders and biceps, gasping for air. His hard on is trapped between their stomachs but he doesn’t seem to care. It feels good to know that he likes her.

“I got you” Bellamy assures her.

He kisses her cheek, wet lips against her hot skin, and then speaks again.

“Take what you need, come on”

And that’s it.

Clare comes in waves, biting his chest, just above his heart, trying not to scream. The orgasm is so hard that just Bellamy’s arms holding her make her stay straight. She comes with a silent scream, his flesh in her mouth, his hands on her ass.

When she feels like she can stand on her own, she lets go of him with her hands but not her mouth. Bellamy’s thigh is no longer between her legs and his body is not pressed against hers anymore, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t let his skin go.

“Clarke” he groans, holding her by the hair, but she just bites harder and then sucks, because she’s going to mark him too. Maybe tomorrow everyone is going to wonder if they had the hell of a threesome, that blonde girl, Bellamy and her, but she couldn’t care less.

She bites and sucks, until she feels his hips bucking on their own, and he’s cursing out loud. When she feels like it, she pulls apart, admiring her job.

There’s a dark red mark on Bellamy’s chest and the guy is looking at her through foggy eyes. She’s going to ask him about what he wants her to do next, but Bellamy just walks away from her.

“You need to leave” he asks her. He’s hard, and flushed and so fucking beautiful like this.

“Did I just do anything wrong?”

He just laughs, but it’s bitter.

“I just need to jerk off and you need to leave. Come on, you wanted your hickey, you have it now. Leave”

“But” she doesn’t want to leave.

“You said you didn’t want to fuck. So you need to leave, because you don’t want to watch this”

Yes, she wants to. God help her, she wants to.

But Bellamy seems really serious about her leaving and suddenly, even though he has made her come seconds ago she feels like an intruder.

He arches an eyebrow, waiting.

“Good night, Clarke”

And just like that she’s dismissed.

But fuck him if he believes she’s letting this go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who took the time to write me to continue this. I just didnt know if someone would like this kind of thing. 
> 
> Also, there's a fic about hickeys too, "If Loves bites you back" by Coldsaturn that's really similar apparently. I didn't know it existed, and i enjoyed it very much (You should totally check it out). MissSophie23 let me know about it. I just wanted you to know this was not a copy or anything, its totally casual that they're similar, i guess we're both into the same shit lol.
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed this part and if you want more.
> 
> Thank you for reading :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to leave but she’s in his way so he stops, hands on his hips, looking at her like she was stupid for being just there. She’s trying so hard not to think about his body pressed against her own, about his hands on her ass and his hard on against her stomach.  
> She’s doing such a good job not thinking about it, right?  
> “Do you actually want something, or you just want a new model for your paintings?” he’s in a bad mood this morning. She wonders if it has anything to do with last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changed, again. Sorry?

As always, he was right.

When she wakes up —at down because she’s unable to sleep more than a couple of hours straight since the meeting/attack/whatever the fuck that was with Anya and the grounders— her neck is so fucking purple it’s impossible for anyone not to notice.

It hurts, but not in a bad way. It’s the kind of soreness that reminds her last night was real, they really were at Bellamy’s tent, and she really, truly did… that. Her thighs contract at the thought, her core reminding her that it needs to happen again.

Clarke closes her eyes, still lying in her bed. She can’t afford to be thinking about it, she reminds herself while she touches the purple skin with her fingertips, goosebumps all over her body.

She can’t afford to be distracted. There’s a lot to be done.

With a sigh she gets up, putting on her boots and the only spare t-shit she has. She fears the day her bra breaks, because she couldn’t be walking around without one of those. Her fingers crimp at the thought, but one thing at a time.

She didn’t actually speak with Bellamy last night, about the food issue, so she really needs to find him this morning.

When she leaves her tent, trying her best to hide the enormous map of bruises she has on her neck with her hair, she knows it’s a mistake. Everyone keeps staring at her. Some of them are subtle about it, but this are teenagers we’re talking about, so the more she walks around camp, the more they talk and whisper. She hears laughs and whistles and then, when someone talk, it starts.

“Wow, that’s the hell of a hickey you've got there, rich girl!”

She doesn’t know who’s the kid, so she lets it go, for her inner peace.

But it doesn’t end there.

When she walks by Jasper and Monty, who are looking for weak spots in the camp wall, she stops.

“Hey, have you seen Bellamy?” she hasn’t even try at his tent yet, but the thought of being there so soon after what happen last night, makes her feel anxious.

“Not yet” Monty answer, while Jasper is more interest in the —of course—bruise she has.

Jasper is going to open his big mouth and say something, she can feel it, but she shots him a warning look and that’s all it takes to shut him up. “Try his tent” is all the guy says, biting his lower lip, as if he was trying not to laugh.

“Sure” she murmurs, because she didn’t really want to go there _ever_ again. Unless it’s to be under Bellamy, huh? Her conscious is a bitch, Clarke has no doubt at this point.

She would laugh but she has made her bed… and now she has to suck it up. She remembers –because it’s impossible not to— Bellamy’s low grumble on her skin. “You sure about this? Everyone is going to notice it tomorrow” he’d said. And she was sure, last night oh god she’d been so sure. Now? While everyone was looking at her like she was walking around naked and exposed?

Not so much.

She closes her hands into tight fists and thanks Monty and Jasper because, _really,_ this was all her fault. There was no point in looking back and regret. You have that mark on you, you better wear it proudly, she convinces herself.

Clarke walks toward Bellamy’s tent and she’s not surprised when she finds him looking at a makeshift table, to that map, the only one they have, with two of his minions. The kids are listening to Bellamy like everyone does when he talks, like he was a god and had all the solutions in the palm of his hand. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t do it too.

She clears her throat, and Bellamy looks at her for the first time. He does this thing, a quick check like he’s trying to assure himself that everything is on its place, that she’s safe. Her body comes back to life when he does it, and she crosses her arms trying to hide her hard nipples.

She’s so _fucked._

His eyes linger when they get to her neck, and there’s a glimpse of acknowledgement on his face and then a little smirk, satisfaction pouring all over his body. He stands tall and proud, messy curly hair and an aura that screams sex.

“You have a minute?” She asks, because she’s starting to feel way too observed.

“You broke your nails or anything?” but he’s nodding, just trying to provoke her. She arches her eyebrows and he just stares back.

There’s this kind of electricity in the air, that is pulling her closer to him —or at least she feels it like that, even though she hasn’t moved. She feels it, and he has to be feeling it too.

If the other two kids feel it, they don’t say anything.

“You had a fight with a wild animal last night, Clarke?”

Clarke doesn’t even look at him, just rolls her eyes.

“More like a fight with a leech” adds the other one, and they seem to believe they’re funny, because the two of them laugh, but Bellamy doesn’t find it quite funny.

“Get out and make sure everything we’ve been talking about is done” he orders, so serious now the kids just nod.

When they get out and leave them alone, Bellamy turns around, walking a few steps, like he’s trying to put some space between them. He gets his jacket on, like he’s preparing to leave.

“I don’t need you to defend my honor” she snaps, and then she hits herself mentally because, really, this is not what she was supposed to be talking about with him right now.

“You are welcome” he rolls his eyes and tries to leave but she’s in his way so he stops, hands on his hips, looking at her like she was stupid for being just there. She’s trying so hard not to think about his body pressed against her own, about his hands on her ass and his hard on against her stomach.

She’s doing such a good job not thinking about it, _right?_

“Do you actually want something, or you just want a new model for your paintings?” he’s in a bad mood this morning. She wonders if it has anything to do with last night.

She breathes through her nose, trying to relax. If she keeps thinking about that, she’s going to blush and he’s going to notice. And fuck him if she’s going to give him that satisfaction.

“Pack your things. We’re leaving camp”

“To do what?” he cocks his head, measuring her.

“To hunt” she explains. “You have 5 minutes. Meet me at the camp gates”

If he’s going to yell at her because she has lost her mind, she doesn’t give him the chance. She turns around and leaves, thanking the cold air of the morning on her cheeks when she steps outside.

 

*

 

She doesn’t like it, but the truth is that Finn is the better tracker they have.

Clarke has learned some things since they got here, and Bellamy is not so bad himself, but Finn is still the best. So she swallows her pride and ask him for help because they all need food and she can’t be picky about choosing a team. She needs the best.

At the end, Miller and Harper are coming too, walking by Bellamy’s side.

“Thought we might use a couple of shooters” he explains, carrying a rifle himself.

She nods, because it was a good idea. Bellamy looks at Finn and her, but he doesn’t say anything and neither does she. The hickey on her neck starts to burn, but she knows it’s not real.

“Okay, come on, we’ll need all the light we can get” Clarke says, because she needs to be occupied with something. Anything. She doesn’t care.

Finn is looking at her and that goddamn purple bruise on her skin like he wants to say something to her. She quickens her pace, trying to leave him behind, but as they walk through the woods it become clearer to her that he really wants to spill it out.

He grabs her by the wrist when Bellamy and the others are ahead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, but she knows that’s not what he wants to say.

“Fine”

She moves her arm, freeing her wrist from his touch, because it burns, not in a good way, and Bellamy’s mark there is gone for good now, but it feels like some kind of treason.

She wants to keep walking, but Finn keeps talking.

“I shouldn’t ask but….” He looks at her hickey then her face “Are you seeing someone?”

She wants to laugh. It’s sur- _fucking-_ real that he is asking her that question. She wants to laugh and scream, and cry at the same time but she manages to seem bored—because she has learnt from her mom and no one lied better than her.

“You’re right” it’s all she answers “You shouldn’t ask”

“You have every right to be mad at me, but it wasn’t my…”

“Look, Finn, this is really not the place”

“I still want you” he has the fucking guts to say.

“I don’t”

 _You don’t, you don’t_ , she reminds herself, because she has to be strong, she can’t afford to be weak in this world of monsters. There’s a sadness at the bottom of her stomach that is threating to break her in half, and all she wants to do is burn it to the ground but she needs a flame to ignite, and her body knows exactly who that is.

“Hey, Spacewalker!” Bellamy shouts from the other side “I think we’ve got something”

Finn looks at her like he refuses to leave her alone, but Bellamy can’t be easily ignored.

“However did that to you, he doesn’t deserve you” he adds, and then turns around walking toward the group.

Fuck that, he does, she thinks to herself. He’s better than me. He’s better than any of us.

 

*

It’s actually a good day of hunt. By the time they want to come back they have a couple of rabbits and a thank god normal deer. It’s a heavy animal but Bellamy and Miller are carrying it while they walk toward the camp gates.

They’re almost inside when Bellamy loses her feet and tumbles all of a sudden. He hits his head with the ground, grunting. Clarke moves in automatic, running the few steps that separated them trying to get to him.

“I’m alright” he grumbles, getting up, but he’s not alright. There’s blood on his face, so red and vivid “I’m alright” he repeats “I just wasn’t paying attention”

“Let me see it, anyway” she says instead of “Fuck off, you’re not alright”, because she knows those are the right words for him to let her do as she pleases. “Stay put”

There’s blood running down his face, from his forehead to his neck, red kissing his check, staining his freckles. His lips are so close to her face; she wants to kiss him. Or graze her thumb over his lower lip, she’s not sure.

“Miller, Harper. Take those inside. See that everyone has a piece of food in their hands” He says it with a movement of his hand, dismissing them and rolling his eyes like it’s not important that his face is bleeding. The kids nod and get inside and Clarke forgets that Finn is still there.

She pushes his hair away, and there’s a cut on the side of his temple. It’s not very deep, but it’s bleeding, and he’s going to need stitches.

“You’re going to need stiches” she declares and he sighs, suddenly tired.  “Shit, I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding” and she shouldn’t even be touching the wound because her hands are dirty.

Bellamy’s jacket is tied to his wrist so he just simply takes off his shirt —like he has a lot of shirt and he can afford the luxury of staining this one with blood—and uses it to stop the bleeding.

“Or that will do” she says, wryly.

But then she’s face to face with his chest and the dark bruise she’s left there. This time it’s so dark is almost black and the shape of her teeth are still there: rounded like a clock that doesn’t let you know the hours but the sins.

She bites her lips, and Bellamy is watching her, she can tell, because all she can do is to stare at that fucking mark and be proud of it. She wants to touch it, not with her fingers but with her lips, but suddenly someone breathes heavy, and she returns to reality.

_Finn._

Finn is at her back, looking at her and then at Bellamy like he’s doing some risky math calculations, and it doesn’t make sense to him. He’s looking at Bellamy’s bruise too and then at Clarke’s neck.

He looks so furious when he steps up, that Clarke believes he’s going to hit someone, but Bellamy smiles at him, a lopsided grin, like he _knows_ and Finn doesn’t dare to say anything.

Fuck you, she wants to say. He deserves me and you don’t.

But Finn gets inside camp, and Bellamy just looks at her like he finds it funny.

“I thought the asshole had a girlfriend” he comments, like is not a big deal.

“Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t know”

If he’s surprised by her words he doesn’t show, but there’s this glimpse in his eyes telling her he’s making the math, interlacing all the events of the last weeks, her odds requests to him.

She doesn’t like the knowledge she sees in his eyes.

“Come on. I’ll meet you at your tent. We need to patch you up”

 

*

“Stay put or you’re going to have an ugly scar on your face” she warns him. He’s sitting on his bed, and she’s kneeling between his open legs, holding his face with one hand, and stitching him up with the other.

“I’m not moving” he complains, and he’s not.

It’s not that.

It’s the warmth of his still not covered chest and his face so close to her own. It’s not that he’s moving, it’s that her hands are trembling.

“Just a little bit longer. I’m almost done” but she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or herself.

The silence that settles between them while she works is calm and comfortable, and his hands end up on his knees, so close to her waist she feels like she might beg for his touch.

“So you and Finn, huh?” he looks at her sideways, and she pulls at the needle too hard because she didn’t expect it.

“You just ruined the moment”

He laughs through his nose, but doesn’t add anything.  She cleans the wound with alcohol, and finishes to wreck his t-shirt cleaning the rest of his face. She’s almost done, just admiring her job —she wishes she had better material, but this will have to do for now — when he talks again.

“Was it because of him why you keep asking for these?” Bellamy asks, touching her neck. Just the softer of the caresses but she’s starving for affection.

“He doesn’t have anything to do with it” she lies, and then tries to get up and leave, because her job here is done. She’s not interested in coming clean right now, and even though she trusts him, she doesn’t like to talk about those kind of things with anyone.

“Wait” he stops her by her waist with both hands, warm and heavy. Her body sighs but her head is screaming at her to leave. She doesn’t seem to have any of her bravery left, he has sucked it all out of her.

“What?” it’s a murmur and she hates herself for it. She can’t afford to be this close to someone, not again.

“I just want to apologize for last night, okay?” and she’s surprised. He never apologizes, not with words, at least. When he makes a mistake, he likes to amend it, with actions not words.

He's only apologized to Octavia before. Never to anyone else.

She feels her cheeks burning up, the memories of the past night fresh on her mind. His hands clench at her waist like he’s thinking about it too.

“There’s nothing to…”

He shakes his head.

“I shouldn’t have made you leave” he explains, and it feels like a confession.

Clarke shouldn’t even be here having this kind of conversation. Hell, she shouldn’t even be talking at all because all she wants to do is kiss him.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted you to stay”

And that’s him. He doesn’t talk much about anything, but with her there’s this kind of connection and he seems to forget he’s being vulnerable around her. He’s honest, and strong, and brutal, like war and sex and life. She needs him to feel alive, and he’s saying he wanted her to stay.

“I…” she doesn’t really know what she was trying to say.

She doesn’t even remember it a second later, because Bellamy moves forward and for the first time since this game started, he kisses her. His lips are surprisingly soft, so warm they burn and Clarke gaps for air even though the kiss is slow.

Slow, not that rush that she remembers with Finn. It’s passionate in its own way, just not desperate. He kisses like he has all the time in the world, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here, kissing her.

“Is this okay?” he asks against her lips, opening her mouth with his.

His breath is warm, and she loves the way his cheeks scratch her a little.

Clarke just nods because she doesn’t remember a single word right now.

“You want me to stop?” kisses and words, everything’s mixed until she’s high on him.

She shakes her head.

“What, the cat got your tongue? Wow, if I had known this would…”

He’s laughing against her, and it feels good, but she wants his mouth. She doesn’t want to ask, because god knows it went awfully bad the last time she did, but she needs him.

“Shut up and kiss me”

He rolls his eyes.

“Always so bossy”

But he’s kissing her again, his lips parting hers and when his tongue touches her lips she can’t help it but open her mouth. He takes advance of it, licking her, groaning when her tongue dares to meet his, a touch so intimate she feels like blushing.

His hands are a strong hold at her waist and he pulls her toward him, pressing their chests together. She sighs and he fucking _purrs._

It’s dark outside already, and everyone is probably having a fest with the food they’ve hunted that morning, but she doesn’t care. She’s not even hungry.

She grabs him by the face while kissing him and he’s pressing her so hard against his body she can’t breathe but she just wants more.

“I want…” she manages, breathing hard.

“If you say you want another hickey, I might kill you” he mocks her.

She laughs, and oh god she didn’t remember the last time she did that.

“I want you to lay down” she asks “You might have a concussion. I don’t want you to get hurt”

“I’m fine”

She looks at him, intently, from his mess of a hair, and his kissed swollen fucking lips, to his broad shoulders and tan skin. He seems to like the way she watches him, so he nods, lying down. He gets comfortable in his own bed, hands on the back of his head. He’s handsome even with that cut on the side of his temple, and she feels like kissing his whole fucking face.

Holy shit, now that she has started how is she going to stop?

She feels shy and small, and she doesn’t like that. She wants to feel in control, of her life, of her actions. She wants to feel like she can do it, like she’s going to make it.

But Bellamy just lies there, waiting for her to move; letting her do whatever the hell she wants.

She loves the freedom he brings.

She looks at him again, lying there waiting. His pupils are so dilated his eyes are black, and his cheeks are a little bit flushed, making his freckles come to life. He licks his lower lip while she stands, deciding what to do, but the way he breathes heavy and his abs muscles contract decides for her.

She pulls her t-shirt over her head, tossing it aside and if she’s feeling nervous she forgets it the moment she sees the way he’s looking at her. His hands are no longer behind his head, they are at his sides now, like he can’t wait to hold her.

She’s going to take off her bra too, but he stops her.

“No” he requests “leave it”

She’s unsure why he has asked that and now she doesn’t feel so confident anymore.

“Come here” he stands a little, “come here or I’m going to forget you’ve asked me to lay down”

The bastard is blackmailing her with her own words.

Fuck it, she thinks. What does she have to lost at this point? Her dignity? Finn has wrecked it all anyway.

She kneels on the bed, crawling toward him until she’s straddling his hips, getting comfortable on top of him.

“This okay?” she feels the necessity to ask, because she doesn’t have that much experience. Not like him anyway.

He doesn’t answer her, just grabs her by the face and kisses her, making her bend until she’s almost lying on top of him. His body is on fire under hers and she feels every single thing: his hard calluses on her cheeks, the smell of his skin, the solid warm flesh growing against her navel. She feels his tongue licking hers, his lips moving slow while his body starts to arch against her own.

He separates his mouth from hers, kissing his way down her neck to her breasts. He’s going to hurt himself, she thinks.

“Stop it. You’re going to get hurt”

But he just smiles. Not a smirk, but a real smile that fills his face.

“I want to make you a hickey”

“Are you kidding me?” really, a hickey was all that she was going to get?

He gets up on one arm, forcing her to brace him with legs and arms if she doesn’t want to fall —which she doesn’t, she’s really comfortable where she is right now, thank you very much.

It feels way too intimate to have him pressed so closed, but at the same time it feels… normal. He’s holding her with one arm, and he’s looking at her with such intensity she is ready to say yes, no matter what his question is.

“I never joke about this kind of things” it’s all he says, and then he kisses his way to her left breast. She arches her back without noticing, exposing her body to him, and he hums, happy about it. And then his mouth opens, right at the top of her breast, and he sucks hard, marking the sensitive flesh there.

She moans, arching harder against him. That only makes him suck harder, and she feels herself getting wet. His mouth is so hot she’s going to have fucking burning marks at the end, and the pulses he’s making are turning her into jelly. Her nipples are tight, pressing against her cotton bra, claiming a little bit of attention too.

When he falls back again, she falls with him, but she’s prepared —or her body is— so she just holds herself still with her own arms, hands at the sides of his head while he sucks her flesh. Her hair covers her face, and she feels safe to express herself, so she moans again, rocking against him, desperate for a release.

She feels his hand traveling to her back, undoing her bra.

“Cover your mouth if you feel like screaming” he warns her, and she wants to laugh because she’s not going to scream, but then her breasts are free and his mouth is on them, kissing and licking, and when he does that pulling suction with one of her nipples she has to bite her lips to be quiet.

It feels good but it’s not that. She’s feeling it between her legs too, like those two parts were connected and she didn’t know it could feel that way.

When he changes his attention to the other nipple she just succumbs to it. She can’t remember how to use her hands to cover her mouth so she closes her eyes, and prays to however god exists that she’s not being too loud.

But Bellamy just likes to torture her. When he stops licking her, she opens her eyes just to watch him licking his thumb and grazing one of the nipples. She’s watching at him while he’s watching her and her hips rock on her own. He hisses, so hard against her she can almost feel him on her skin. He hisses so she does it again, because she loves the sounds he makes.

“What do you want?” he asks, against her lips, kissing her lips again. His are wet and slippery but she loves it.

“I don’t know” she answers, but it’s a lie.

She wants to watch him come, the image of him touching himself that she couldn’t stop thinking since last night still fresh in her memory.

He senses her hesitation.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, princess”

Bellamy pulls her away, just enough so they can look at each other properly.

“Tell me”

And it’s not the order what makes her speak, it’s the way his hands are caressing her sides, up and down, while he’s looking at her. She feels like he cares about her and maybe it’s just a lie but he hadn’t taken anything from her before, not last night when he wanted to, so she knows he’s not selfish.

Stop comparing him to Finn, her mind screams at her.

“I want to watch you” she dares to confess.

“Watch me?”

“Yeah. I want to know what you did last night when I left”

He laughs, his body shaking a little.

“No one has asked me that before”

“I’m not like most people” she declares, because she refuses to feel embarrassed, but he just looks at her and nods.

“I know” just two words but it feels like he really knows her, everything there is to know about her. “Come on, lie by my side?” he’s smiling innocently at her, like he’s not about to…

She can’t even think about it, but she manages to get down his body —missing his warmth—and lie beside him. The bed is big enough but their shoulders are touching, their arms and legs too, like neither of them want to be apart.

He starts undoing his pants, and he’s not looking at her now, like it was too much for him too, but when she feels like covering herself, he stops her with one hand.

“Don’t” but he’s not ordering, he’s asking.

She nods.

“I see yours and you see mine?” she jokes, because she’s actually terrified.

He shakes his head, laughing, and distracts her with a kiss. It was meant to be a sweet kiss, but it turns into something slow and hot, like Bellamy is breathing her and she’s more than happy with it. He kisses her lazily while he undoes his pants and lifts his hips, freeing himself.

She knows when he touches himself because he moans against her lips, and his pleasure tastes like wine. Her eyes were closed, but she _has_ too see it, has to see him so she opens them. He’s holding himself in a tight fist, caressing the head of his cock with his thumb, touching himself as lazily as he’s kissing her, like there was no rush.

She doesn’t know how but she dares to say

“I bet you didn’t do it like that last night” she speaks against his mouth, her hands itching to touch him but not daring. “I bet you weren’t that gentle”

When he opens his eyes, they’re clouded like he doesn’t remember how to speak, and this moment —they looking at each other and the sound of his hand moving, his breathing a pant that sets her on fire—, feels like heaven.

“No, I was not” he confirms, then hides his face on the side of her neck, kissing his own mark, licking later. “But I’m in no rush tonight. Are you?”

She denies with her head.

“Good. Takes off your pants”

He feels her hesitate again.

“I want to touch you too.” Bellamy kisses her cheek, “I want to make you feel exactly as I’m feeling”

She doesn’t even remember doing it, but apparently he was a magician and she was just a flame on his hands. He turns his head on the pillow, not licking her anymore, eyes closed, looking at the ceiling, but his hand, the one that is not using to touch himself —steady rhythm and wet skin, the sound so fucking hot she wants to lick him— sneaks between her legs.

Her legs part on its own, and her hips rock against his hand when his fingers find her clit, tracing lazy circles there.

“Oh my god” she murmurs, because she doesn’t believe it. He’s touching both of them at the same time, with the same fucking rhythm and this guy should have been a fucking bassist.

“Good?” he asks

“Yeah”

He increases the tempo when she says that, and she doesn’t want to close her eyes, because he’s biting his lips, breathing hard and moaning, while he’s rocking his hips and the motion with his hand is compelling. She wants to fucking burn him in her memory, because he’s sweating and groaning, and his muscles are glistering.

But he’s touching her too, and when his fingers find her wet and slippery he moans, and she closes her eyes, moaning too.

“You’re fucking dripping” he manages, whimpering, mostly to himself. “Take them off all the way” he asks, and she fucking does it without complaining because whatever it is he has planned, she is up to it.

When she falls back to position, he grabs her leg and places it above his thigh, leaving her exposed. Her calf is now against his cock and the hand he is moving there, and Clarke feels closer to him. She likes it.

He grips her knee hard for one second, and then his eyes roam through her body, until his free hand returns between her legs, easily now that she’s wide open.

Before she knows, he’s got two fingers inside her.

“Better now?”

She doesn’t tall back, just whimpers, and the angle is quite weird but it feels good anyway, and he sounds so close she’s feeling her own orgasm close too.

“Shit, I’m going to come” he gaps, his hand moving so fast she is wondering if he’s hurting himself. “You need to help me out”

“How?”

“Touch yourself, come on”

But he’s speaking with his eyes closed, and then he bites his lower lip and all she wants to do is feel him. So she does help him, because she changes the fucking scenario.

Clarke takes his hand off her, and he looks at her like he doesn’t understand the change.

“What…?”

But she’s not interested in talking; she’s interested in watching him, and feeling him and not feeling so fucking numb, so she straddles him, and takes his own hand off his flesh too.

“You don’t have to”

She rolls her eyes.

“Shut up, Bell”

And he laughs, at the words, the name or her actions, she doesn’t know. Then she’s grabbing him, hot skin against the palm of her hand, and guiding him inside her. He hisses, stopping her hips from moving, so hard it should hurt, but all she can think about its the fucking stretching feeling of her inner muscles.

“Fuck, you feel good”

“Don’t compliment me right now” he begs, and he’s containing himself, she can tell, gritting his jaw hard. She feels full so she moves “And don’t move”

“Can I breathe?”

“Right now even that is way too sexy”

She laughs because he’s making fun of himself, and the temblor of her body makes him moan.

“Fuck it” he curses under his breath “Come here”

Clarke does it gladly.

She bends, kissing him, and starts to move above him, turning him into a mass of sweat and curses. His moans mingle with her own and she knows he’s going to come because he starts touching her between her legs.  

She wants to be quiet but it’s starting to be difficult so she does the first thing that comes to her mind. She bites him on the side of his neck, sucking too, marking and tasting him. He groans, and comes first, biting his lower lip while he thrusts forward but the feeling of him inside her triggers her own orgasm, and suddenly she’s gasping for air, not remembering her own name, biting his neck even harder.

It takes them a little but eventually they’re breathing normal again, and she pulls apart, looking at him. There’s a dark red mark on his neck, and the hickey on his chest is still there too.

Suddenly she smiles, looking at her own chest.

Bellamy looks funny at her, like he’s trying to figure her out.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got matching hickeys”

And she starts to laugh and doesn’t stops. He braces her against his chest, trying to tickle her, and she just doesn’t remember the last time she felt so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this.  
> Thank you so much for all the love, all the kudos, comments and nice words. I didn't even think anyone would like this kind of thing, and now im looking forward to write more about this two.  
> You guys are the best.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this last part too.
> 
> XO


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